Saved
by gf7
Summary: Kensi has a need for her team to know that she's tough and can handle anything that comes at her, but sometimes even she has to be saved. Unfortunately, being saved isn't one of the things she handles well.


**Author's Note: Hey folks, this isn't my typical style exactly - this is much more of an exercise in voices with a bit of story around it. It's fairly light hearted, but there are some show specific deeper issues explored. I hope you enjoy and that it doesn't ramble on too much.**

**Warnings: A naughty word or two, but otherwise this is as PG as it gets.**

**Feedback: Always appreciated.**

* * *

When his fist collides with her jaw and she sees stars for just a few seconds, she thinks to herself, "Maybe I should have stayed in bed this morning."

It's far too late for that now, however.

She jerks to the left and ducks his follow-up blow. His hands are huge, matching his massive size. He's got to be at least two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. She's maybe half of that.

But for her size, she's strong.

And fast.

And in a really bad mood right about now.

When he tries to grab at her again, she nimbly avoids him, staying within his range only long enough to pop her knee up into his groin. It's not a complete solid hit, but it serves its purpose.

He groans and staggers backwards. While he's recovering, cursing up a nasty sounding blue streak and calling her names that would offend her if she hadn't been called them by every single back guy she's ever brought down, she takes the opening to move towards her gun, which is lying a few feet away from them.

Unfortunately, she doesn't get very far before one of his massive ape paws is grabbing her by the hair and yanking her back hard enough to break her neck. She gasps as oxygen is literally ripped from her throat.

The guys never have to worry about this shit, she realizes with just a trace of annoyed gallows humor.

She doesn't have time to dwell on her thoughts, though, because he's still got her by the hair and suddenly she's going face first into a wall. She hears (and feels) a wet crack – surely her nose – and then damn it if the stars aren't back again.

Thankfully, he lets her go after impact with the wall and she falls to the ground, for a moment dazed. She hears a soft clicking sound above her and her suddenly foggy brain struggles to figure what kind of weapon he's holding.

She rolls over and looks up at him, blinking through the thick amount of blood that's seeping into her eyes, tainting her vision a foggy red.

He's got a knife – a small little switchblade. He smirks and steps towards her.

She sighs.

Oh, this is going to hurt.

He lunges for her and she realizes too late that the space behind her – the space she had planned on using to jump backwards into in order to avoid his swipe – is far, far too small and suddenly, she's tumbling right into the path of the knife.

The blade cuts sharply into her abdomen. She hisses in pain, her eyes narrowing as a flash of agony tears through her. She glances down and sees that the front of her previously white rib tank-top is already colored a shiny bright red.

Wincing as she moves, she backs up, ducking below another frantic swipe. This one just barely catches the skin of her right palm, taking with it a massive hunk of flesh. She grabs at his arm, holds it, spins around and then using her go-to move, viciously slams her elbow into his face with all of the force she has in her.

Yeah, he has size on her, but as Renko is quick to tell everyone, she's meaner. Much, much meaner. Especially when she's hurt.

There's a loud satisfying crack and this time, it's his nose that breaks.

Which seems – in the spirit of turnaround - rather fair to her.

He howls, calls her a bitch and tumbles down, hand over his bloody face.

"Kensi?"

"Yeah, I'm good," she says, trying to straighten herself up, but failing. Instead, she stays bent at the waist, looking almost like she's trying to catch her breath.

"Good. You done playing around ?" she hears the voice of one of her partners – G Callen - say from her side. His tone is meant to be flip, but she's been around this man for far too long to buy it – he's worried by all the blood he sees on her.

And yet he knows that she'd never forgive him if he treated her like she couldn't handle the situation.

This time, she forces herself to straighten fully up, grimacing as the cut across her abdomen stretches and opens again. "Just about." She steps over towards her gun, picks it up, cocks it and points it at the goon who is still lying on the ground. "Don't move or I will not hesitate to shoot you. Many times."

He glares up at her and his mouth opens to call her another name, but before he can, she drops down, rolls him over and presses her knee hard into his back.

"Stay," she says, like she would a dog.

"Fuck you," he snaps at her.

She shoves her knee in a bit harder and he lets out a painful grunt. That would make her smile if her head wasn't starting to spin. "Cuffs," she calls out, putting one of her hands out towards Callen. She's aware that her hands are shaking.

She feels the cold metal cuffs slide into her open palm and she thinks maybe Callen's hand stays in contact with hers for a moment longer than is probably necessary.

"You are under arrest, you stupid son of a bitch," she growls as she turns back towards her new captive.

He calls her another name, this one far worse than "bitch". It takes everything she has not to pistol whip him. Instead, she snaps on the cuffs, tightening them until he whimpers.

"Okay, I got him," Sam Hanna says from behind her and she can see he's wearing a half-smile.

All is well. The bad guy has been captured. The world is safe for another day.

"Sure," she says. She stands up again and that's when the spinning in her head becomes out and out lightheadedness. She waivers as her vision blurs.

She puts her hand on her stomach and sees that's she still bleeding.

"Callen," she whispers, looking up at him, her eyes wide with panic. She holds up her hand to him, showing him the bright red liquid coating her fingers. "I…"

"No, it's okay. I'm right here," he replies, sounding almost absurdly calm. And then suddenly, his arms are around her and he's holding her tight. She practically falls against him, somewhat aware that he's completely supporting her weight.

"Get her to the hospital," Sam calls out over his shoulder as he yanks the still cursing former Marine to his feet.

"No, I'm fine," she mumbles, trying to blink away the haze that had suddenly overtaken her vision. It occurs to her that she's lost a lot of blood in the last ten minutes – from both her broken nose and the multiple knife wounds she incurred.

She reminds herself that the cuts aren't likely deep – they didn't splice into anything important. The one on her hand stings a bit – is barely a scratch.

The other one is worse, but hardly fatal.

But where it's located is the kicker – right across her abdomen, which means that every time she straightens her body out, the cut tears and stretches, causing it to begin bleeding anew.

"The hell you are," Callen responds and suddenly his arms are under her and he's lifting her up. She starts to squirm against the damsel in distress position, but quickly realizes that she lacks the strength to fight back.

She's amazed at just how quickly her energy has ebbed away from her.

Five minutes ago, she was on the Marine's back, fully ready to deliver him a complete ass kicking if he'd given her half the opportunity.

Now, she's pretty much sure she couldn't convincingly whoop a kitten's ass.

"I'll meet you there as soon as I take care of this guy," Sam tells Callen. At least that's what she thinks he says. Her head is fully on Callen's shoulder now.

"Right," Callen responds. She can feel him moving, walking quickly. And then he seems to be talking into the air. "Renko, get the car started up."

"Why?" she hears Renko say, his voice sounding scratchy over her earpiece. She wonders if she whacked it on one of her tumbles to the ground.

"Kensi's been hurt."

"I'm fine," she tosses in, sounding almost like she's drunk.

"What happened?" Renko demands and suddenly he's very close to her, taking her out of Callen's arms.

"Pierce stabbed her."

"Dammit. I knew we should have worn vests for this," Renko says as he slides her into the backseat. There's a hint of anger in his tone, but it's without direction. She feels his hand gently slide across her brow, almost like he taking her temperature. And then his hand is in hers and he's checking her pulse.

After a few moments of this, Renko reluctantly slides away from her and she feels someone sit down next to her and knows immediately that it's Callen. A moment later, she feels a pressure against her stomach as some kind of cloth is pressed against her bloody wound.

"No reason we would have," Callen counters. "It was supposed to just be background interviews."

She hears the car start up, feels an arm slide around her.

He's holding her close and she thinks that he's far more worried than her wound suggests he should be.

It's just a surface cut. A bloody messy one for sure, but nothing she won't recover from fairly quickly.

But he's worried and she thinks that maybe if she wasn't so tired, maybe she'd be worried, too.

The exhaustion, though, it's too much.

The last thing she feels before she closes her eyes is Callen squeeze her hand. She hears him tell Renko to drive faster.

She hears Renko reply in the affirmative and then there's the noticeable push of the car suddenly going a lot faster than is legally allowed.

She closes her eyes.

"She's out," Callen says softly, running his fingers through her suddenly sweat soaked hair. She 's lost a lot of blood or at least it looks that way to him. The sweatshirt that he'd pressed against her wound is soaked red.

It's enough to scare the shit out of a guy.

"We'll be at the hospital in ten minutes," Renko says as he narrowly avoids side-swiping a Honda. Suffice it to say, they're not exactly practicing safe driving.

"Can you make it five?"

Renko glances back at the now unconscious and unmoving Kensi, his brow deepening. He nods. "Sure can."

And then somehow or another, the car goes even faster.

* * *

She awakens for a few moments when they reach the hospital. She feels herself once again be carried. This man has darker, slightly longer, stringier hair.

Renko.

Now he's the one holding her tight against his body.

She hears a door slam.

"Okay, I'll take her," Callen tells him.

For a moment, Renko doesn't move.

If she didn't feel so horribly out of it, she might even be amused by his obvious reluctance to hand her over.

Finally, he slides her gently into Callen's arms.

"I'll park the car around front and update Hetty," Renko says, sounding like he's desperately looking for something to do.

"Good," Callen replies.

There's the sound of footprints and then Callen calls him back.

"She'll be fine."

"Course she will," Renko answers. "She's Kensi."

She wants to tell them that she's right here and yes she's fine, but her body isn't responding and neither is her voice.

She settles, instead, for passing out again.

* * *

She spends almost a week in the hospital, most of it owing to the fact that the location of the knife wound on her stomach makes the likelihood of her pulling her stitches out fairly high.

Just to prove the point, on the third day she's in the hospital, she tries to check herself out and in the midst of all of the drama, she ends up lying on her back on the cold floor of the ICU, wincing in pain and soaked in her own blood.

After that, she agrees to allow the doctors to dictate her recovery.

During that time, she receives visits from everyone on the team, including Renko. She gets a card and flowers from Deeks, who is still undercover somewhere. Even though she's quick to again remind everyone of her hatred for floral arrangements, she has to begrudgingly admit that the LAPD Detective has good taste in them.

On the morning they release her, Sam and Callen show up to pick her up. Sam's the one who steers her wheelchair (which she strongly protests against, but which the hospital insists is a procedural necessity).

Callen walks besides them, almost seeming like a hired gun.

Once they're outside, with the sun beaming down on them, she pushes herself up and says, "Okay, what case are we working on?"

They both look at her with a sort of wonder.

"What?" she asks. "Haven't I been out of action long enough? Come on, guys, fill me in." Her hand (which has healed a lot quicker than the rest of her) strays up towards her face and she runs a finger past the bandage on her broken noise.

She's still sporting some colorful bruising there, though not nearly as much as during her first couple of days in the hospital. Now, it's mostly yellow with a couple shades of pale puke green thrown in for good measure.

"Uh uh. There's no way Hetty is letting you return to work so soon," Sam tells her and she sees something in his eyes – something like admiration.

Will she appreciates the respect he has for, right now that's not what she's looking for from him.

"She will," Kensi insists. "All I have to do is show up, convince Nate that I'm fine and she'll sign off."

"Are we talking about the same Hetty?" Callen laughs.

She glares at him. He puts up his hands, but doesn't remove the smirk from his face. She hates that damned smirk.

"Just take me to Ops. Let me do the talking."

"Oh, that doesn't sound good," Sam says, tone mock serious.

He gets a repeat of the glare that she had previously thrown Callen's way. Then, turning to the blonde team leader. "Callen?"

"Okay," he says. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

"I won't."

"Good." He looks over at Sam. "10 bucks says the first thing out of Hetty's mouth is some variation of go home."

Sam shakes his head. "Nah, she'll ask how Kensi feels first."

"Kensi's right here."

It doesn't escape her that about a week ago, she'd wanted to say the same thing when it had been Callen and Renko talking about her. At least this time, she can.

For all the good it does. They both ignore her. "So it's a bet?" Callen queries.

"Yeah," Sam nods.

They shake on it. She rolls her eyes.

She slides into the backseat of Callen's car and her eyes immediately track to a maroon colored dries bloodstain on the fabric. She runs her fingers over it.

"Sorry, I thought we'd cleaned it all up," Callen tells her and again, she sees the worry deep in his blue eyes.

She forces a smile. "It's fine. I just…I'm amazed by how much I bled."

"Me, too," he says and there's entirely too much sincerity in his tone.

"All right," she says, deliberately changing the subject. "To Ops. Go, go, go."

Smirking again, entirely too amused for her liking, Callen nods, then turns on the ignition and pulls the car out of the hospital parking lot.

Turns out that Sam wins the bet.

"Ms. Blye, it's wonderful to see you up and around," Hetty says, approaching quickly. "How are you feeling?"

Behind her, Sam and Callen exchange a look. There's a shuffling sound as Callen pulls out his wallet and extracts a worn-out looking ten-dollar bill.

She hears Sam ask Callen just what the hell he was doing with the ten-dollar bill.

Callen replies effortlessly, "Practicing making paper airplanes."

To which Sam responds, "Well, you were doing it wrong. If you crease it here, you're never going to get the proper glide."

"Paper airplane expert are you now?"

Turning away from Sam and Callen, Kensi returns her attention to the bemused looking Hetty and insists, "I'm fine, Hetty, really."

"That's very good to know," Hetty nods. "Now – and I mean this with all of the respect in the world - go home."

The boys stop their inane discussion long enough to chuckle at her expense and she's suddenly overwhelmed with the need to punch both of them.

"I don't need to go home. I need to get back to work," Kensi insists, stepping towards Hetty.

"You're not cleared for duty," Hetty reminds her, shaking her head.

"Then clear me. Please. Come on, where's Nate?" As she asks the question, she starts looking around.

"Unavailable."

"Really?"

"Really."

"So that's not him I see talking to Eric?" Kensi says, pointing up towards the balcony. The two men are standing there, oblivious to the conversation occurring below them, deep in a heated discussion.

Hetty looks up and with perfect practiced innocence says, "Oh, look, Nate's here. He must have just gotten in."

Kensi groans at the obvious and badly told lie. Then calls out, "Nate!"

Both he and Eric turn and both men light up when they see her.

"Kensi," Eric says with a little half wave. "Welcome back."

"Thanks, Eric. Nate, I need you to clear me."

"Clear…clear you?" he stammers.

"Yeah. That's what I said."

His eyes dart towards Hetty and almost comical how she tries to shake her head in the negative all while pretending that she's not moving at all.

"I uh…has a doctor medically cleared you?"

"Obviously. I was released wasn't I? I just need you to return me to active duty."

"Perhaps we shouldn't shout this conversation," Callen suggests when he notices that everyone else around them has stopped what they're doing so that they can pay attention to the drama unfolding in front of them.

Hetty notices as well and flaps her arms. "Back to work," she demands. Her words have an immediate effect; suddenly there's a flurry of activity as all of the onlookers try to act like they weren't doing exactly what they were doing.

In the time that takes, Nate and Eric are down the steps and standing right in front of the rest of the group, huddled up in the bullpen area.

"So what do I have to do?" Kensi asks. She's been hurt on the job before, but never one that required a week-long hospitalization.

"Well you said the doctor released you, but did he do so with any qualifiers?"

She doesn't say a word.

"Callen?"

"He said she should probably take a few weeks off to ensure that the wound doesn't tear open again."

"Aha. Then it's settled," Hetty declares.

"Wait, no. What about…what about desk duty?" Kensi pleads.

Nate's eyebrow goes up. "You're volunteering to be on desk duty?"

Sam reaches out and takes her hand and for the second time in a week, someone is checking her pulse.

She swats him away. He gives her his widest grin. She ignores him and focuses her attention back on Nate and Hetty.

"Volunteering, no. But taking it as opposed to sitting at home and doing nothing, yes." She looks at Hetty. "Please."

Hetty thinks for a moment. "Fine. You'll work with Eric."

"She will?" Eric says without thinking. When Kensi throws him an icy glare, he answers it with what he hopes is a charmingly roguish smile. It's far more dopey than that. "I mean, sure, okay. An extra set of hands is always appreciated. As long as those hands stay off of my keyboard. And my mouse."

Before Kensi can shoot back a heated reply, Hetty announces, "And while you're on desk duty, you will, of course, be sure to attend your counseling sessions with Nate so that he can clear you psychologically for your eventual return to the field."

She considers protesting, but both Hetty's determined look and the gleeful joy on Nate's face convince her that there's no point.

It's desk duty, geek patrol and head shrinking for her.

She sighs and drops into her chair, wincing as her stomach protests the clenching of her ab muscles.

And of course, everyone notices her reaction.

Of course.

* * *

She realizes quite quickly that maybe begging to be allowed to be put on desk duty might have been a bad idea on her part.

She's not really built to be in the rear with the gear.

As she stands over Eric, shoulder-to-shoulder with Nate, watching Callen and Sam work an op that she would have been perfect for, she's just about going crazy. She's certainly driving Eric and Nate just a little bit insane.

After almost an hour of this, Eric finally spins in his chair. "Hey!" he shouts. When she gives him a narrowed eyed glare, he quickly recalibrates himself. "Hey, how about lunch?"

She shrugs, "Sure."

"Great. Why don't you go pick it up?"

She doesn't miss the near to comical visual of Nate's eyebrows shooting up into his hairline and then the total tell of his left hand going up to scratch at his right ear. He's quite clearly suddenly very anxious.

"You want me to go get lunch?" Kensi challenges. "And bring it back for you?"

"Yes?" Eric replies, slinking back in his chair. He's starting to rethink his idea of how to get her away from his computers.

"Is that a question or a statement?" She knows that she's intimidating him right now, but rather thinks that he deserves it. After all, it's not like she wants to be doing this. He could be trying to make it easier on her, she figures.

"Um…"

"Be gentle, Miss Blye," Hetty chuckles as she enters. "Mr. Beal sometimes speaks before he thinks."

"She's right," Eric nods quickly. "I really do."

"However, he brings up a good option. You're going stir crazy in here, yes?"

Kensi reluctantly – almost petulantly – nods.

"Then why don't you take a ride down to the Jeri's Deli in Marina Del Ray and pick us all up something to eat."

"That's kind of out of the way," Kensi replies. And she's right. There are several Jeri's Delis a lot closer.

"Exactly," Hetty nods. "You can take the new Porsche."

"I can?"

"She can?" Eric asks.

Everyone ignores him.

"If you think you can manage to not get pulled over for speeding," Hetty says, not bothering to hide the smile on her face.

"I can!" Kensi replies immediately and then suddenly feels sheepish for her childish outburst. "I mean, sure, no problem."

"Wonderful. Then we'll be expecting you back in about an hour. No more than two or three.

"Right. Two or three."

"The Porsche is gassed up and waiting for you."

"Thanks," and with that, Kensi is out of the room.

Eric wisely waits a few moments, until she's quite sure that Kensi is gone and then he turns to Hetty. "I could hug you."

"You could," Hetty nods. "But you won't."

"Right. Of course not."

"How are Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna doing?"

"Still on stakeout," Nate informs her.

"Good. Nate, walk with me."

"Uh, sure." He glances back over at Eric, who is giving him a "busted" look.

"Mr. Beal," Hetty scolds.

"Sorry. Focusing on Sam and G."

"I'm sure you are." She indicates for Nate to follow her out of the room.

They walk a few feet away and then Hetty stops them and turns to Nate. "Have you had a chance to speak to Kensi?"

"Briefly. She seems okay."

"Seems okay?"

"She'd had other injuries, Hetty."

"True."

"She's even been shot before."

"Also true."

"So, why is this one worrying you so much then?"

"You read the reports from Callen, Sam and Renko, yes?"

"I did," Nate confirms.

"You read how she was taken out of the scene?"

"In Callen's arms."

"Exactly."

"You think she might have a problem with being rescued? Hetty, she's been rescued by all three of them before. She's rescued them before. I don't know that I see the problem."

"Think about who Kensi is, Nate."

She lets that hang for a moment, trying to gently guide Nate to understand where she's going with this.

"Kensi is strong and independent and…"

"Able to take care of herself," Hetty finishes for him. "It's one thing to have the others come in guns blazing…"

"But it's quite another to have be carried out like a victim."

"Now you understand," Hetty nods, patting his arm.

"Yeah. I'll talk to her when she gets back."

"Good. Now would you like to join me for afternoon tea? I received an excellent mint blend this morning from an old dear friend in England."

"Do I even want to know?"

"It's quite the story," Hetty promises.

He smiles. "I appreciate the invite, but no, I'll pass. I want to read over the incident and action reports again."

Hetty nods and then turns and walks away from him.

He watches her for a moment and then heads the opposite way, his thoughts tumbling and his super logical mind trying to figure out how he missed the obvious in regards to Kensi.

He likes to think he knows her pretty well by now.

Even if she'd hate the idea of anyone knowing her. Especially her shrink.

No, her friend, he insists. He's her friend first, shrink second.

And thanks to that dual relationship, he has a pretty good idea what it is that makes her tick and pushes her along.

He likes to think that he gets her.

Maybe not like Callen and Sam do – but that's borne out of the same weird mental state that makes all three of them such phenomenal field agents.

Part lonely lost child, part daredevil, part desperately seeking adult, part lunatic.

Still, in his own way, he gets her.

And yet he missed this.

That realization, it's not something he cares for.

It's something he assures himself won't be repeated.

* * *

She stops at the beach on her way back from Marina Del Ray.

It's a warm afternoon and she suddenly feels overdressed in the green long sleeved shirt that she's wearing.

As she gazes at the water, her hand drifts down to her abs. There's still a bandage wrapped around the wound there – just to be safe.

She's been hurt many a time before.

Shot at least twice.

Stabbed four or five times.

Bruised and beaten up? Eh, she's lost count.

It's not the injury itself that's under her skin.

It's the rescue.

No, that's not right.

It's the how of the rescue.

She sighs.

As much as she doesn't ever want to a helpless victim, she doesn't want to be the teammate who can't accept assistance, either.

She can. She has many a time before.

She's just never been carried out.

It rubs at her.

"Get over it," she mutters to herself.

Her phone buzzes. She glances down at it, sees a text from Renko. "Checking in – how are you?"

She types back a quick "good" and hits send.

Then she allows herself a small smile.

Mike Renko had been an everyday member of the team for years preceding her arrival. After Callen's shooting, he'd taken over working the really deep cover operations, which meant that he was no longer based out of Los Angeles.

That didn't mean he wasn't still part of the team.

And a good friend.

Her phone buzzes again. "Dinner later?"

She chuckles and types back, "That sounds like a second date. Pass." She's smirking as she taps the keys with her fingers.

His reply comes back immediately. "Damn. Had to try."

She laughs again, but then startles when her phone rings and she sees that Renko is now calling her. She answers it.

He doesn't even give her a chance to say hello. "But seriously," he says. "You're okay?"

"I'm okay," she assures him.

"Good," and there's a tremendous amount of relief in his tone.

"Where are you?" she asks, suddenly knowing that despite his invitation for dinner, he's nowhere close to Los Angeles.

"Arizona, chasing drug smugglers."

"Fun."

"It has its moments. I'll check in when I get back into town in a few weeks."

"Sounds good," she thinks for a moment and then adds an almost uncharacteristic, "Be careful."

He chuckles, "That sounds almost like you're worried about me."

She groans.

"Uh huh. I knew it. I'll wear you down yet."

"No, you won't."

"No, I won't," he admits. Then, with more than a little teasing in his tone, "Hey, what's up with this Deeks guy? I hear there's a thing there."

"Says who?"

"I would never reveal my sources."

"Callen's full of shit."

"What else is new?" Renko confirms.

"And no, there's no thing between Deeks and I. He's just our LAPD liaison."

"Who…liaises."

"Oh, God, not you, too."

Another laugh, then, "Okay, I gotta go. Take care, all right?"

"I will," she assures him.

"Bye." And with that, he hangs up.

She closes the phone and is about to slide it into her pocket. A glance at her watch tells her it's about time to be getting back to Ops.

She makes her way back up the beach, slides behind the wheel of the Porsche and fires it up.

It doesn't roar to life, it purrs. She grins and peels out, enjoying the sound of burning rubber on the hot asphalt.

Rough and harmonic.

Music to her ears.

* * *

By the time she gets back, it's close to five and two to three hours away has become more like four, but no one actually cares.

"Lun- uh, dinner!" she calls out, holding up the bags from Jeri's.

"You get me pastrami?" Callen asks as he comes up behind her. She jumps and then immediately winces, as much from pain as embarrassment.

"Callen," she hisses.

"Sorry," he chuckles as he takes the bag from her.

"It's at the bottom," she tells him. "Hopefully smooshed."

"I like mine smooshed," he answers. "Seals in the flavor better."

"That's how he describes his shortness, too," Sam quips as he takes the bag from Callen and seeks out his sandwich. He unwraps it and then grins up at Kensi. "Nice."

She nods. "Of course. So, how was the op?"

"Boring," Sam and Callen say together.

"And it was probably still more exciting than watching Eric work," she sighs.

"Hey!" Eric protests as he and Nate seem to appear out of nowhere. She doesn't miss the intense "we need to talk" look that Nate is throwing her way.

At first, though, she tries to ignore it. Tries to pretend that she's concentrating on something – anything - else.

It doesn't work.

"Kensi," he says softly. "Got a moment?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He shakes his head in the negative.

"Don't eat my sandwich," she says to the boys. "And don't play with it, either. I'll know."

They all give her a "would we do that?" kind of look.

She doesn't buy it for a moment.

* * *

"So," Nate starts. "I wanted to talk to talk to you about what happened after you were stabbed."

"You mean me passing out?" she asks, even though she knows damned well what he's getting at.

"No, I meant you being carried out."

She shrugs.

"Does it bother you?" he asks.

She shrugs again.

"You know that's not actually an answer, right?"

She considers shrugging for a third time just to annoy him, but figures that might be pushing her look. So instead, "A little, but I'm dealing."

"I know you are, but just for kicks, humor me, why does it bother you?"

"You have a strange idea of kicks," she tells him.

He chuckles, "You have no idea."

"Sadly," she says with a wry smile. "I do. Steven Segal and otter pops?"

"Perhaps that was an overshare," he admits.

"Perhaps."

"So," he presses. "Why does it bother you? You've been saved before."

"I know," she answers and there's an edge in her tone. She hates thinking of the amount of times she'd had to be saved in the plural. "But this is different. Every other time, I wasn't saved so much as helped. I was working on a way out myself. But that day…" she pauses and thinks about whether she wants to let this out. Finally, with a sigh, "That day, If Callen and Sam and Renko hadn't been there, I might have passed out and bled to death."

"So you're upset because you lost complete control of your own survival?"

She doesn't reply. She doesn't need to.

"Okay," he says.

"Okay?" she repeats. "What's that mean?"

"It means, I wouldn't expect any different from you. Or from any of them. I figure if you carried Sam out of a building…"

"You're joking, right?"

He smiles and neither one of them can stop from laughing. She reaches out and touches his arm.

"I have to admit," she says. "I'm getting sick of these 'make Kensi less crazy' sessions with you."

"Then be less crazy," he urges.

"Cute," she says, shaking her head, but her eyes showing off her clear affection for him.

"So they tell me."

"They?"

"The ladies?"

"You have lots of ladies after you, do you?"

"A few," he replies. After a moment of her looking at him with disbelief, he hedges. "A couple." And then, his voice lower, "Okay, the crazy coroner."

"Uh huh. Come on, Romeo, I got you a sandwich, too."

"Roast beef with provolone?"

"Of course,"

"So," he says as they move back towards the bullpen. "Any plans for the weekend?"

"Are you kidding? I just came back from a long weekend. Or week off."

"I'm having a Segal marathon on Saturday," he tells her. "You're more than welcome to join me for it."

"Will there be alcohol?"

Before he can reply, Callen and Sam are reinserting themselves into the conversation.

"Alcohol, where?" Callen asks, even though he probably drinks the least of any of them.

"I'm uh, having a movie marathon on Saturday," Nate says, almost shyly.

"Segal," Kensi tells them.

"I love Segal," Sam nods.

"You're more than welcome to join us," Nate offers, gaining a little confidence. "Both of you."

"G and I just might," Sam replies.

"G and I?" Callen counters. "When did you start making plans for me?"

"Do you have other plans?" Sam asks.

"I might."

"Do you?"

"No."

"That's what I thought. What time on Saturday, Nate?"

"Uh, five-ish?"

"G and I will be there."

"Okay," Nate answers, picking up the sandwich bag. He extracts his roast beef sandwich and then says, "I'm going to go check in with Hetty."

And with that, he makes a quick exit.

"Look," Sam scolds, "You made him nervous."

"Me?" Callen protests. "You're the one who invited us to his date with Kensi."

"What? Whoa?" Kensi says. "How is a movie night a date?"

"It's not," Sam tells her. "He's just trying to change the subject."

"Okay, just as long as we're clear," Kensi insists. "Which reminds me, Renko told me you've been telling him there's a thing between Deeks and I. Just how many people do you think I have a 'thing' with?"

"Careful, G," Sam cautions.

Callen tilts his head to the side, studies her for a moment and then with a smile replies, "Hey, I just call them as I see them."

"Bzzt. Wrong answer," Sam says, under his breath.

Kensi narrows her eyes. "You suck."

"You love me."

"No, I don't."

"You do."

"Not even a little."

"A whole lot."

"Ugh. I'm going home."

Callen calls out. "You want Sam and I to pick you up for date night."

"Yes," she calls back. Then stops. "Oh and I need a ride home now. I don't think Hetty will let me take the Porsche back to my apartment."

"Not back to your apartment," Callen agrees. "It'll be stripped down to the bolts within an hour."

She glares at him.

He doesn't even pretend to act admonished.

"I'll take you," Sam says. "G can find his own way home."

He shrugs. "Home's here tonight. The new place isn't going to work out."

Both Kensi and Sam roll their eyes.

They don't bother asking why it's not going to work out and Callen doesn't bother giving them a reason.

It's always something or other.

Before she can stop herself, Kensi says, "My spare room is still empty."

She's offered him it at least three dozen times, maybe more. He's never taken her up on the offer. She doesn't expect him to now, either.

He glances around the still busy Mission.

Then shrugs.

"Okay."

Both she and Sam blink.

"Oh...kay?" Kensi asks.

"Was it not a real invitation?" Callen challenges.

"No..no, of course it was. I just…wait, this isn't about watching over me, is it?" her eyes are narrowed suspiciously.

"Nope. Just feel like sleeping in a bed as a opposed to a couch."

For anyone else, that would sound perfectly reasonable. For Callen, it's flimsy as hell and they all know it.

Still, neither she nor Sam (especially Sam) are going to call her on it.

"Fine," she says. "I'll let Hetty know we're leaving." She tosses back one more pointed look at the boys, then heads upstairs towards the Eagle's Nest.

"So?" Sam asks, once he's sure she's out of range.

"So?"

"She's fine, G."

"I know."

"Okay."

"But you're just making sure, right?"

"I'll call you later tonight and let you know how she is," Callen assures him.

"Good."

"Just be careful not to let her see you do that," Hetty says from behind them. They both startle and she can't stop the grin on her face from spreading. There's nothing near as satisfying as getting the jump on ex-SEAL and an experienced undercover agent. It's not always the smartest thing to do to sneak up on these two, but it sure is amusing when done well.

"Of course," Callen says, a bit breathlessly.

"Of course," she agrees and then moves off again.

The men share a look of amazement.

"Okay, ready," Kensi calls out as she comes down the stairs. She sees them both looking towards Hetty's nook. "What? What'd I miss?"

"Nothing," they both say at the same time.

"You know," she tells them. "Deeks was right. That is adorable."

"Agreeing with Deeks now, huh?" Callen counters. "First sign of a 'thing' developing, wouldn't you agree, Sam?"

Sam pretends to consider it and then nods his head. "I think so."

"Shut up," she fires back.

"I'm just saying."

She puts up her hand and then moves out towards where the cars are parked.

"You keep on about that, she's going to hurt you," Sam warns.

"You agreed with me," Callen replies.

"Sure, but I'm smart enough not to bring it up first."

"I like to live dangerously."

"Yes, you do," Sam agrees. "Which means I'm driving."

"I drive well."

Sam snorts and moves off, leaving Callen a few feet behind him.

"What? I do!"

His only reply is the sound of the door closing behind Sam. He turns and glances around the Mission. It'll be quiet within an hour or two and would have been perfectly fine to call home for the night.

But Sam is right, for this night, he would prefer to keep an eye on his teammate and friend.

Just to be safe.

Just to be sure.

He's lost enough people in his life.

He's not about to lose her.

* * *

It's just after two in the morning when he gets woken up by the sound of panicked cries echoing sharply through the apartment.

He stumbles out of the guest bed, for a moment unsure of where he is. It takes him a few seconds to gather his wits about him and then he's racing down the hall, opening her closed bedroom door and rushing then into her room, where he finds her thrashing around in her bed.

He's immediately thankful that she wears clothes to bed.

"Kensi," he mumbles, coming over to her.

She doesn't respond, but spins to the side, her brow furrowed.

"Kensi!"

This time he reaches out and grabs his shoulder and gives her a hard shake,

He should have known better. He's soon enough movies, read enough books, he knows how this always ends.

With a hard slap to the face.

She doesn't disappoint – her arm going out and whacking him hard across the nose.

"Ow!"

She blinks and looks up.

"Callen?"

"Ow!" he repeats.

"What? What are you doing in my room?"

"Why are you slapping people in your sleep?" he snaps back.

"I…I'm sorry?"

Her confused tone makes all of his irritation bleed away. She looks so utterly lost.

"It's okay. You were…dreaming."

"Yeah," she nods, but doesn't offer any more.

"Do you…want to talk about it?" it's dangerous ground to broach this – they all have their nightmares and they all keep them to themselves less they seem incapable of handling the job.

"No," she replies, immediately.

"Okay."

There's a beat of silence and then he says, "I'll uh…good night."

"Right." He steps for the door and she considers calling him back. A part of her would really love the human contact of being held right about now, but she's not sure how he would react to the request.

Would he see her as weak?

She couldn't deal with that.

So she settles for saying softly, "Can you leave the door open?"

He turns and looks at her and their eyes meet. There's a moment there where they both understand each other perfectly. He nods. "Okay."

"Thanks."

She turns away from him, wincing slightly as she does. Her abs are screaming in pain after all of her thrashing, but she resists reaching for the Vicodin on the dresser. She hates being on meds – hates not being able to control the pain.

She can tell that he's still in the room, still watching her, but she doesn't turn back to look at him.

She can also tell when he's left.

She watches she could have asked him to stay, wishes she could have pushed past the mental walls that keep her from being able to let the people she's closest to know that yes, she's human after all.

They know, though.

That's why Callen's here.

Watching over her.

She turns in the bed and looks out through the open door.

She'd never admit it – certainly not to the guys or anyone else – but she's glad he's staying here tonight.

Even if he's down the hall.

It's a good while before sleep takes her again, but when it finally does, this time it's quiet and dreamless.

This time, it's peaceful.

**-FIN**


End file.
